Dragonball C: Book 3
by Dr. Snooch
Summary: Everyone's favorite silly Dragonball parody is back and better than ever Better is objective .Things have gone smoothly since Goku's wish fixed his world... But when a wish from the Red Dragon goes wrong, Goku unwittingly travels back in time and revisits the idiocy of DBC. This one takes a slightly darker turn. Only slightly, though.
1. Prologue

Dragon Ball C: Book 3

**Prologue**

Two suction cups slapped onto the flat surface of Dende's Lookout, the sucking motion of the cup adhering to the tiled surface. The mechanical arm attached to the cup yanked the robotic cockpit upward, closer to the top where the pilot could disembark to arrive at his destination.

"If they're gonna blow us up, I think we'd better get back to the base!" cried the dog-like creature, Sho that was sitting inside the vehicle with his Boss and his secondary companion.

"No, we won't! You will follow my orders!" roared Pilaf, the diminutive blue-skinned humanoid creature wearing a small hat with an orb on its top. "We go when I say we go!"

The floating structure shuddered again and a loud BOOM sounded within, eliciting bright lights from the windows. This activity was the source of Sho's concern, and indeed seemed to threaten the threesome's plan to land on the Lookout to achieve their goal.

Without any means of warning, an even more powerful explosion sounded from within, shaking the structure insanely, a blast of fire erupting to life out of the windows, which sent the vehicle shuddering, nearly breaking the tentative grip of the suction cup.

"Now, both of you pull! Get us over that edge!" cried Pilaf, very real fear gripping him as he watched the bright fire explode forth.

Neither Mai or Sho argued, working hard at the controls to propel them upward.

* * *

><p>Son Goku cringed as his Kamehameha blast connected with Oob's flash of energy, the two beams of luminous energy colliding with a loud <em>crack<em>, which sent a reverberating wave of force roll over the entirety of Dende's Lookout.

Oob cried out and flexed his muscles, the tendrils of energy screeching loudly in protest of one another. He roared louder as the blue kamehameha seemed to be gaining ground, overwhelming his own blast.

_NO!_ His thoughts screamed at him. _I won't let myself lose!_

His loud scream accompanied his bolstered beam, which flared intensely and penetrated through the bright blue wall of energy.

Son Goku noticed this new development and his eyes widened. He braced himself and his arms stiffened as the force assaulted him, all of the energy turning on him

Oob had improved quite noticeably and Son Goku smirked, a silent motion of approval for his student.

Goku's muscles bulged as he dislodged his arms from his own blast and sent an exploding blast into the center of the meeting tendrils of energy. The whole of the "chi" blasts themselves combusted, creating a gigantic explosion, forcing Goku and Oob into evasive action.

* * *

><p>Pilaf, Mai, and Sho had finally reached the top, and were crawling out of the cockpit of the vehicle. The blue-hued miniature figure touched down onto the shaking tile floor, immediately heading for the inside structure.<p>

"Finally, I did it! Now everyone to the dragon ball!" cried Pilaf as he rushed toward the door. His goons soon followed behind him, inside the lookout's interior. The floor itself began to crack, revealing intense light, followed by loud explosions of sound.

"Thanks to decades of gut-wrenching perseverance and research, this may very well be the last time we search for the dragon ball!" proclaimed Pilaf as he made his way throughout the halls, occasionally tripping from the violent state the structure was in. "By the day's end, my reckoning shall be at hand, and all of humanity will know the name of Emperor Pilaf!

"It will be synonymous with fear and rage! And power and strength!" He continued, searching throughout the bowels of the twisting halls. "…The world will know me as their King… _King_ Emperor Pilaf!"

Yet another explosion shook the foundations of the area, sending the three falling over each other, the three trying to get their bearings confusedly.

Suddenly, it became quiet and the shaking ceased.

* * *

><p>Dende and Mr. Popo had been waiting on the Lookout for Goku and Oob to return from their final training session. They had stayed there, enduring the constant rattling of their beloved home, and when all became quiet again, the Lookout was marred and all but destroyed.<p>

The two stood up as Goku and Oob came into view.

"We're finished, Dende!" called Goku as he and Oob returned, side by side.

"Well?" replied Dende. "Don't give us any suspence; how did Oob do?" asked the God of Earth.

"He passed with flying colors," Goku explained, and he smiled. "I was really impressed! I have to admit, though, I haven't had a battle that wore me out this much since Freeza!"

"How does it feel to graduate, Oob?" asked Mr. Popo.

"Really good," answered Oob. He didn't go on further, for he collapsed from exhaustion a moment later.

"Oob! Are you okay?" asked Goku as he reached out to catch his falling pupil, but he ended up similarly collapsing.

* * *

><p>Pilaf cackled hysterically as he was glowered over the pedestal that held seven dusty wish-granting balls.<p>

"I found them!" he cried triumphantly. "At long last, I found them…" The tiny old man reached out and picked up one of the dirty orbs.

"They don't look like any Dragonballs I've ever seen," remarked Mai.

"Oh, they don't?" asked Pilaf rhetorically, as he wiped the top of the dusty ball with his sleeve, revealing a glassy orange sphere with one black star in the center. "Feast your eyes on this!"

"The star is black," observed the old woman.

"That's right, these are the black star dragon balls! They are more powerful than the normal ones because they were made when Kami and Piccolo were still one, long ago," explained Pilaf.

"If they're stronger, do they grant a stronger wish, or do you get more than one wish?" asked the old woman.

"Idiot," Pilaf interjected. "The wish is mine to make!"

A moment of silence passed.

"I order you to pick up the rest of the dragon balls immediately!" commanded Pilaf.

"Yes, Emperor," muttered Mai, beginning to collect the balls with Sho.

* * *

><p>"I hope you're proud of yourself as we are, Oob!" Goku congratulated his graduated martial arts student. "You certainly have earned it,"<p>

"Thanks for everything, you guys. I just hate to leave the Lookout like this!" said Oob, sweeping his arm out wide to encompass the nigh-demolished area.

"Don't worry about it, Oob. It's been through a lot worse. Mr. Popo and I can fix it right up, really! And besides, you've got to get back to your family—I'm sure they miss you,"

"Thanks, Dende," said Oob. "And Goku, I can't tell you how much I appreciate everything… You changed my life!"

Goku seized Oob's hand in a firm handshake.

"Hey, don't thank me," Goku insisted. "I got just as much out of it as you did. You're a great teacher."

"Really? That's funny Goku!" laughed Oob. He began to run to the edge of the Lookout. "I'll see you guys later!" The young man leaped off the edge. "Take care!"

* * *

><p>The seven Black Star Dragonballs were dropped to the tiled floor, and Mai and Sho backed away from them as Pilaf made his approach.<p>

"All we have ever worked for has culminated in this moment," remarked Pilaf. He then remained standing there in front of the balls, reveling in his glory to come.

He began to laugh maniacally, spreading his arms out to the sides.

"Rise!" He called to the orbs. "_Rise_, Shenlong!"

The sky grew dark and the balls began to glow. The glow altered from the soft glow to a brilliant brightness. Suddenly, that brightness exploded into motion, exploding upward into the sky in a serpentine maneuver, elongated and shifting incredibly to take the shape of a gigantic dragon. It grew and grew until the draconic figure, by a huge margin, was larger than Porunga, the humongous Namekian Dragon God.

* * *

><p>Goku, Dende, and Mr. Popo exited the inside of the Lookout.<p>

"Man, what a meal!" exclaimed Goku as he walked.

"The pleasure was all ours," said Dende, grinning.

"Thanks. But I think I had better get going home. I haven't been home in a few years, so I doubt that Chi-Chi will be happy with me," laughed Goku, but a distant light had him distracted.

* * *

><p>"<em>Why<em> _have you summoned me?_" boomed the echoing draconic voice from above. The Dragon was red and impossibly large, its blue eyes penetrating and fierce as it stared down at those that summoned him.

Pilaf was speechless, and his cohorts were similarly unmoving, so intimidated and scared by the dragon were they. They all were silent for a few heartbeats until a voice from behind broke the hush.

"Hey, what's going on in there?" Son Goku called to the three.

Pilaf and his cronies jumped, startled by the arrival of this stranger. The boss spun on him, enraged by the interruption, but he blanched as he got a look at the man that looked back at him.

"It's him!" squealed Sho, backing off a step.

"Hey…" Goku greeted slowly. "I know you guys from somewhere, don't I?" he asked, considering the threesome. "I can't quite place it, but you look familiar,"

The three remained unmoving, and they seemed to have paled.

"…Do you know me?" asked the saiyan.

"It's Goku…that little brat that always got in the way of my greatness…" muttered Pilaf, staring at the saiyan in disbelief.

Recognition sparkled in the saiyan's eyes. "I remember you now! You're Emperor Pilaf, right?" Goku's face became grim as he considered the dragon. "All these years and you're still up to no good,"

"You've grown from being a huge nuisance into an even bigger one!" cried Pilaf, planting his palm into his face.

"Well, you're the bad guy—I'm supposed to stop your evil plans." reasoned Goku as he calmly stepped closer.

"Get away from me! Oh, I wish—"

A small explosion of "chi" at Pilaf's feet silenced him, cutting him off in midsentence, making him yelp and jump back in fright.

"That's enough out of you, Blue Guy." said Goku. "Times are good for me right now, and I really don't want to bother with you guys right now."

"Is that the case?" screamed Pilaf, outraged for his failure, which he previously thought would ultimately be his final victory. "Do you think the times I am in at this point are all fine and dandy? I hate losing! _I wish that times were horrible for you again_!"

In that instant, the eyes of the Red Shenlong flared blue, and an aura of dread washed over Son Goku.

* * *

><p>In the background could be heard the music of <em>Sandstorm<em> by _Darude._The world spun, Pilaf screamed, and Goku roared his outrage, because the world around him shifted unbelievably and he felt recognition course through him as he watched the events of the world blast backward in time. Gradually, the form and voice of Emperor Pilaf faded into nothingness before the petrified saiyan's eyes.

Red and blue hues twisted around him as he was hurled in an insane spin throughout the space-time continuum. His clothes trans-materialized into his original orange Gi, and dazzling lights flashed before his terrified countenance.


	2. Something's Definitely Different

**Chapter 1**

**Something's Definitely Different.**

He was running, but suddenly, he didn't remember where to. Son Goku stopped dead in his tracks as he considered what was happening.

The saiyan looked around, abruptly unsure of everything.

Where in fuck was he running? Why, was the better question.

He was in the Capsule Corp. building.

Oh, how lovely…

…Why?

It was late at night, he noted. What in God's name could he possibly be doing here? He crouched down, rubbing a hand on his face. Goku even rubbed his temples, thinking that perhaps he could be suffering from…

_Alzheimer's…_ he thought worriedly, gently rubbing a hand down the side of his head.

_No_, thought Goku, shaking his head determinedly. That was absolutely goddamn absurd.

Some form of amnesia, he figured solemnly.

He was growling softly, pressing hard against his temples, trying to remember something—anything.

Goku saw Shenlong… only it wasn't Shenlong. This dragon was red, and huge—way bigger than the normal Shenlong.

Was it a dream? Or wasn't it?

Having no other clues, Son Goku simply shrugged and headed away.

* * *

><p>The saiyan prince caressed the back of her head, feeling her soft blue hair as he kissed the woman, pressing further into her.<p>

Vegeta even thought that he could get away with slipping another hand behind her, feeling her buttocks. Bulma squirmed at that, but otherwise, she did not cease the kiss.

As the prince pushed gently into her, his thoughts were turned to engaging _Operation: Third Base_. He really didn't think that he would make it as far as this, what with the possibility of Kakarrot out to get him and put him in the ground. He was making good progress.

As for Bulma, though, her thoughts eventually came back into focus. Although she knew what Goku was doing was wrong—wanting to kill Vegeta—she could not deny that she was betraying Son.

Vegeta reached up for a nice handful of them boobies.

Inches from the glory of the feeling of soft breast in his hands, he was intercepted. More curious, Bulma pulled away from the kiss, looking at the saiyan prince hard.

"What's the matter?" asked Vegeta.

Bulma was quiet for a moment, considering her next movements. "This isn't right," she muttered.

"What?" asked Vegeta incredulously. "This couldn't possibly be _righter_!" he argued.

"Goku," she explained simply, rolling her eyes toward the floor solemnly. "…I can't…"

Vegeta appeared as though he would simply keel over, as he lolled his whole body to the side, and nearly collapsed. "Kakarrot," he sighed weakly.

Pleading eyes flashed her way, but Bulma affirmed her position. "This was a mistake, Vegeta," she whispered, withdrawing. "Please…"

"But—!" Vegeta started.

"…Go…" said Bulma quietly.

He became silent, and after a few seconds, Vegeta conceded it with a resigned sigh. "I see," He pursed his lips.

"Please…" she whispered, closing her eyes.

There was silence, and after a moment, Bulma's eyes opened again, and Vegeta was gone.

The room was empty and quiet, save for the window curtains adjacent to the opened window billowing softly.

* * *

><p>Goku was starting away, but suddenly a dark figure leaped out in front of him, effectively startling him.<p>

Vegeta stamped right up to the lower-class saiyan, putting his face barely two inches from his own. "Here I am, Kakarrot!" he snapped.

The saiyan didn't quite know what to do, staring into the face of the clearly agitated saiyan prince. "I see you," he agreed slowly.

"Come on," Vegeta invited, his face twisting insanely and evilly. "Do it… Do it!"

Goku eyed him curiously, not understanding where Vegeta was trying to go with this.

"Come on—Come on!" Vegeta shouted quickly. He leaned closer. "Kill me, I'm here! _Kill me_! COME ON, DO IT NOW!"

Goku patted the air with his hands, backing away a few steps. "Vegeta, are you okay…?"

"Hurry up and kill me, Kakarrot!" Vegeta urged, desperation creeping into his voice. "Finish the job…!" he pleaded.

The Prince of Saiyans' hands seized Goku's orange gi.

Dreadfully confused, Son Goku pried off the clawing hands of the desperate prince and insisted "No, Vegeta...! No!"

Vegeta immediately fell into him again, grasping at the saiyan's gi. "Kill me! _DO IT NOW_!"

Goku's blinked his eyes and crinkled his nose, backing off a few steps and slapping away Vegeta's hands. "What's come over you?" he asked. "I'm leaving..." he turned and began to walk away, but the sound of Vegeta's sudden movement from behind made him break into a sprint, retreating from the probably drunk prince.

Shouts of "You bastard!" followed his confused steps.

* * *

><p>He hooped and hollered, throwing his head all around as he rode the large caboose of his bride, #18. Suddenly, the telltale feeling in his nuts and the incredible sensation in his dickhead warned him that he was about to blow his load.<p>

Krillin was the man he once was again, after being shrunk mysteriously to an abnormally small size, decreasing his strength and power to that of a child's. He was exiled from his home at Kame House, and his wife and Master promptly became fuck buddies. All who encountered him were disgusted and told him that they hated him.

His strength and power had been restored due to great effort through training with his childhood friend Son Goku.

He then beat the shit out of Master Roshi to win back his wife, and to fuck her without restraint.

Krillin groaned loudly as he pulled out of #18, who roared in response as arcing ropes of jizzm smacked down upon the android's buttocks. The martial artist's long, drawn out roar suddenly began to increase in pitch, eventually becoming a long squeal.

When he was done, Krillin realized that he was shorter, and his muscle mass was gone—he was shrunken down to an abnormal size again.

"The fuck!" cried out #18 when she noticed the change. "Son of a bitch, weak fuck, I knew it!" she growled, kicking out at Krillin and sending him flying away, crashing through the wall of the Kame House.

Krillin, naked, screamed as he bounced across the sand outside.

"Oh, so you're not so tough anymore, are you, boy?" chuckled a creaky, nasally voice from the side.

Krillin turned his head to see his Turtle Master, hobbling toward him on his walking stick.

"No…" murmured Krillin, knowing, but not understanding what happened.

Roshi's foot slammed down onto the naked form of Krillin, drawing a pained gasp from the newly diminutive martial artist.

"This is for last time!" cried Roshi as he brought his foot up for another stomp.

Krillin couldn't stop the tears from flowing freely as he yowled in protest as Master Rosh called him names and abused him.

* * *

><p>He groaned loudly, throwing his head back from the sudden buzz. He sniffled through the fine substance caked dryly on his upper lip and somewhat around his nostril.<p>

The other man eyed him knowingly, an amused smile creasing his lips as he anticipated what would come next. He had gone through this exact situation a dozen times already.

"This is amazing," stammered the man, sniffling and rubbing away some residual drugs from his face. The man could feel his pulse quickening, and an energy he never knew buzzed in his head.

"As I told you," remarked the dealer, his shoulder-length black hair bouncing effortlessly with a dramatic shift of his head. "It's very special shit," he spoke confidently, his light almond-shaped eyes penetrating his guaranteed buyer's.

"This feeling…!" the shady customer proclaimed, his eyes twitching somewhat as he spoke the words, his high setting in further.

#17 clapped his hands together and leaned forward to catch his customer's attention. "Pay me twenty thousand zeni and in exchange, you'll be awarded with 10 grams,"

"Pricey," remarked the man, shaking his head for a measure of clarity. "You see, I'm on a budget…"

#17 smirked at that. Super Coke was worth it, and after all, the man would buy it nevertheless. The drug would take full effect in about 5 seconds.

Five…

Four…

Three…

Two…

One…

As if on cue, the man's hesitancy all but disappeared, and was replaced instead with an eager grin and a feverish nod. "Twenty thousand it is!"

#17 held out his hand, and a stack of bills was slapped into his waiting palm. With his other hand, he reached into his open case and gently dropped a small bag of the glorious white substance into the man's eager grasp.

The man said no word of thanks, and walked with all speed out of the alley, eager to stash his new acquisition.

"Another loyal customer," remarked the android, pulling forth a cigarette and popping it into his mouth. He lit a match and brushed the flame up against the edge of the tip of the tobacco tube and inhaled.

Blowing the smoke through his nostrils, he cracked another grin.


	3. Dippin' Crotch

**Chapter 2**

**Dippin' Crotch**

Four digits pinching the crispy fried potato chip, the Namekian scraped his snack through the creamy substance, gradually caking the dip onto its designated vessel. Once there was a satisfactory amount on his food, Piccolo brought the chip up to bear, and briefly examined it. Without any indication of approval, he devoured it with an audible crunch, shifting his gaze back toward the 70" plasma screen television.

Piccolo, a Namekian, was the last-second offspring of his father, the Demon King Piccolo. He was spat out as an egg right before the Demon King was killed. He'd wandered the Earth, eventually growing to adult size, all in search of Son Goku, the one who had killed his father—or him, actually. I mean, he sometimes calls himself the demon king, but then he suddenly doesn't. He's still connected to Kami—or at least was before he died. It's really hard to explain. Anyway, he and Goku fought, and Piccolo got his ass knocked the fuck down, and they eventually wound up becoming friends.

So one thing led to another, and here he was, sitting on the couch with his new best friend, Tarble. It was pretty late at night, and both their eyes were bloodshot as they stared at the game they were always so engrossed with.

The Capsule Corp. TV room had become his and Tarble's living (and sleeping) quarters, essentially, as they ate all of their meals, slept on the couches, and spent nearly every waking hour in that room.

The only source of light the room was exposed to was the constantly-changing luminescence of the television, which perpetually flashed, spraying a rather radiant spectrum about the gloomy vicinity.

Tarble's bloodshot eyes fluttered closed and nodded out, lurching forward ever so slowly, seeming to deflate, but eventually caught himself, jumping up and giving a sudden gasp.

"Fucking shit," remarked Tarble lethargically to Piccolo. "Fucking falling asleep," he sighed, leaning back and stretching out.

"Oh yeah?" he asked absently, depositing another chip into his mouth and crunching on it for a moment. "I'm wide awake,"

"Fuck, dude," Tarble groaned in reply, rubbing a fist over his eyes.

Piccolo took a new chip from the bag that laid at his side and brought it to bear, ready to apply more dip on it, but he stopped as something he hadn't considered before crossed his mind.

"These dips are bland," Piccolo remarked suddenly, catching Tarble quite off guard.

"Say again?" Tarble muttered confusedly.

"Tarble, these dips we keep using are becoming more and more…" Piccolo started to explain, rolling his wrist around in thought. "Uninteresting," he finished.

"Well, what do you want me to do about that?" asked Tarble glumly.

"I don't know…" admitted Piccolo. "I just wish that we had something else to eat our chips with—something exciting and new—something so fresh and interesting that…" he explained solemnly, trailing off as some new ideas started filtering into his head.

Moments passed before something suddenly stirred within the two of them. Slowly, they turned to each other, wide-eyed, excited expressions across their faces.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" asked Piccolo slyly.

"I think I do," replied Tarble, using an equally sly tone.

"We'll make a _new_ dip!" exclaimed Piccolo, standing up suddenly.

"Fuck yes!" Tarble said, no longer seeming so sleepy.

"It'll be a recipe all our own!" continued Piccolo, holding out his hands and bobbling them up and down as he said it, adding emphasis to his words.

"We'll use only the best ingredients in the whole fucking world!" added Tarble, just as excited.

"It'll be—" Piccolo started, but his attention was suddenly stolen by the game on the TV.

It was probably the biggest play of the night.

Piccolo gave a roar of delight, pumping his fists, his eyes fixed to the television. "Come on, run!"

"_Go baby, go! Go baby, go! Go baby, go_!" chanted Tarble at the top of his lungs.

Their team scored.

The Namekian and the saiyan cheered and high-fived each other in celebration. Reciting a dumb chant, the two danced about the room with stupid giddiness.

Without warning, the door slammed open, alarming the two celebrating friends.

"Knock it off!" Bulma screamed at them. She was dressed in a voluminous robe and sported an array of curlers in her blue hair. "Some of us are trying to sleep!"

Piccolo and Tarble hushed up, fidgeting awkwardly as they stood, embarrassed of themselves. "Sorry," they managed to utter.

Bulma gave them a good long look of anger, and then exited, slamming the door shut behind her. Behind the portal, angry whisperings could be heard, which then dissipated as Bulma got farther away.

The two soon retired to their respective couches, collapsing into them and covering their bodies with fleece blankets. Despite the sudden sobering screaming from their host, they were still excited for their newest idea. With fresh ideas brewing in their heads, the two fell soundly asleep.

* * *

><p>He touched down lightly, in the gloom of the immensely early morning. Goku was confused as completely as he could be at that point, for he had no idea of what was going on anymore. No idea why he'd been at Capsule Corp. or why Vegeta was acting so out-of-hand.<p>

At least at home things could make sense. The constant of his wife and her nagging—it could be a rock for him, something to help put things into perspective for him.

He pushed on the door, but to his surprise, it was locked.

Flabbergasted, Goku sighed and took a few steps back, considering the situation. Chi-Chi never locked the door.

Confused but determined, Son Goku came to the side of the large, dome-like house and propped open a window.

He crawled inside easily with the help of light use of a levitation technique (that's _flying_ for y'all).

Goku snuck slowly through the empty house, searching for his wife and kid, Goten, whom he knew should be sleeping by this point.

He poked his head into the kid's bedroom, expecting to see his son, but to his surprise, he didn't see Goten.

Shrugging, he dipped out of the room, at a loss. "Where could they be?" he wondered aloud in a whisper.

There was yet one room to check—the master bedroom, the bedroom which belonged to he and his wife.

With all speed, he strode inside, to find no wife, but a peculiar stain on the floor.

He bent low to examine it. It was blood. Very, very old, too.

Goku came to a conclusion. Some accident had occurred, perhaps! It was a difficult thing to swallow, but there was one conclusion he kept coming to.

His wife was no longer here.

He trembled with the knowledge of this revelation, and his legs careened, nearly buckling. Goku began to sob, and he toppled to the floor, curling into a ball and cursing this hopelessness in a world that continued to confuse him.

"She's dead," he whispered, clawing at his own head. "Where have I been?" growled Son Goku. "Why couldn't I save her? Damn it, why…?"

* * *

><p>He drained yet another beer in a massive swig, wobbling unsteadily on his feet as he did so. Vegeta dropped the bottle down to the floor absently, and it made a soft clink sound as it hit the dirty carpet.<p>

"Why?" asked Vegeta glumly, shaking his head stupidly. "Bulma doeshent love me," he blubbered. "…and Kakarrot doeshent even have the… fucking courteshy to put me out of my missery,"

A lavender-haired youth clapped Vegeta on the back and gave him a reassuring grin. "Father, it ain't all that bad," Trunks remarked. "You still got your health,"

Just then, Vegeta puked down the front of his shirt, the vomit trailing down the material in a long, milky sliver, leaving a big, wet stain on the fabric, which sported a few chunks of unidentifiable foods. The once-proud prince stood there, letting the watery spit-up drip from his lips in tiny plops, then suddenly slumped down to sit in it. Trembling in a sickly fashion, Vegeta looked up at his son plaintively, his eyes bloodshot and full of tears.

"Well," said Trunks, silently taking back the mention of his father's health. "I'm sure you'll get over it,"

"I'll never get over it," mumbled Vegeta, inattentively playing with the puddle of vomit with a hand at his side. "Your mother was the singular angel in my otherwise empty, hateful life,"

Trunks, not one for sentimentality for his obnoxious and drunk father, left Vegeta to his own devices in the smallish hall, and planted himself on his couch, picking up the clicker, which was always situated on the cleanest cushion of the sofa.

He pointed it at the television set and pressed the power button.

* * *

><p>The roar of the crowds was deafening, and the sold-out mass of people screamed at the top of their lungs, waving flags, making gestures, and simply enjoying the grand spectacle.<p>

The thrill of professional martial arts fighting was one of the greatest spectacles in the entire world.

"Here he is," blasted the speakers, which ushered the crowd to roar anew. "Your champion…"

Fireworks exploded to life around the entrance walkway.

"_Daaaaaark… Vegetaaaaa_!"

A saiyan leaped out of huge doors, and sprinted onto the huge white-tiled arena.

Dark Vegeta, clad in his customary blue gi, and orange undershirt, complete with an orange sash. In truth, he really did look a lot like The combination of Goku and Vegeta when they were fused together as Vegetto.

Dark Vegeta had a troubled past as a renegade saiyan who survived by the seed of his own wit and skills. He eventually found his way to Earth and tried to recruit his fellow saiyans, Vegeta and Kakarrot, into a life of dominance over the Universe.

When he failed numerous times to convert his brethren, he grew to befriend them and established a peaceful truce. However, Vegeta was still distrustful of him and sent him fleeing into the woods.

Dark Vegeta, after years of foraging in the woodlands, was one day greeted by a woman, Lunch by name, whom he developed a relationship with. Upon going to the civilized world once again, he fought off a mugger and somehow got a job as a professional fighter at the World Tournament Entertainment business, which was owned by the one and only Mr. Satin.

Here he was now, performing his crowd-psyching routine, as he loved his fame and fortune now that he had them.

"Today, ladies and gentlemen," began the voice of the announcer, as soon as the cheering died down somewhat. "Our undefeated champion defends his title once again…"

Cheers sounded, and Dark Vegeta only stood there patiently on the tiles, nodding happily with the recognition he got.

"You know this man. The mean, the huge, the super-strong, the five-time-champion… Nape!"

More fireworks went off, and out leaped Nape, a well-muscled fighter, dressed in only boxing shorts and high-cut leather boots. And as his namesake somewhat hinted at, the nape of his neck was bulging with enormous, rippling muscles.

Nape flexed all his muscles, leaning forward and bulging his neck-meat weirdly as he roared aloud, which Dark Vegeta figured was derogatory toward him.

The crowd cheered for Dark Vegeta, which seemed to deflate Nape somewhat, but he nonetheless continued his parading dance of superiority.

With a flourish and a few extra bulging flexes of his neck, Nape produced a large microphone.

"Brother!" he roared. "You think that your undefeated record intimidates the mighty Nape!" and at that, the crowd gave a boo in unison.

"The crowd thinks so, too," continued Nape. "But that means nothing to me! A weakling rough-housed a few other weaklings; big deal!"

It was then that the bell rang for the match to start.

"You're going down, brother!" bellowed Nape, and he went into a frenzy, tossing aside the microphone and running at Dark Vegeta with all the speed he could muster.

With a spinning dash, Nape lowered his shoulder and stuck out his great neck to a hugely extreme point, howling "Neck punch!" which was his special attack that he came up with himself. It utilized his enormous neck girth and provided a heavy blow for him. It made for his Sparkling Superb Combo.

Nape's neck muscles hurtled toward Dark Vegeta's face, but Dark Vegeta ducked, and so the attack connected only to air.

Dark Vegeta, going for the spectacular for the crowd, came back up with a back flip, kicking his legs up and over to let him land on his feet. Once he was upright again, he looked on his opponent…

…Who had lost his head.

Like, literally, his head was removed from his shoulders, and all that was left was huge neck muscles pulsating as blood spewed forth from it.

When Dark Vegeta had performed his evasive flip, his foot must have connected with Nape's head, and that movement alone must have provided the necessary force to pop the skull straight from the man's torso.

There sounded an enormous gasp throughout the arena, and no other sound permeated the vicinity.

The silence lasted for a few long moments, before one singular soul shouted, "Holy shit!"

Without warning, a rather heavyset gentlemen, with a voluminous goatee and sideburns and poofy black hair tucked beneath a brown cap started making his way toward the scene. He wore a big brown adventurer's shirt, and he rushed onto the arena to examine the body.

"Oh no," he muttered, his fingers touching the enormous neck, for he was evidently searching for a pulse. "Oh no—Oh _NO_!" he wailed. "_He's dead_!"

Dark Vegeta could sputter nothing from his lips. He'd killed someone.

The crowd, again as one, screamed in abject horror of the gruesome scene. People began to flood out of the stands, running away to escape the terrifying sight.

Dark Vegeta stood there, staring down at the bloody, murderous pile. No words would come as he stared blankly at the dead body with its head missing.

* * *

><p>"Achoo!" sneezed Lunch, and she rocked back in her seat from the force of the sternutation. She looked around the room distastefully, and she flipped her now-blonde hair around.<p>

"Oh, that prick isn't here," she observed. "Guess it's time for me to get my sexy ass out of here,"

Lunch got up and produced a satchel that Dark Vegeta had bought her, then began to start shoving fistfuls of cash and other assets from her so-called lover into it.

Once she had two handbags full of money and other valuables, she pushed out of the room and left.

Before long, she was riding down the highway on a stolen motorcycle.

* * *

><p>It was overwhelming, the amount of confusion that kept the amnesia-stricken saiyan walking around with nothing he could cling to.<p>

He kept to the mountains, not sensing Piccolo's energy anywhere nearby. Everything was different, and for all he knew, Piccolo could be dead as well. He considered that notion bitterly.

But Vegeta seemed to still be alive and well! …But he was clearly marred or shaken by something. Maybe he was of like mind with Goku? And all the warped aspects of reality had Vegeta in similar tumult—so much so that he wished to die.

Son Goku placed his hands upon his head, and he cursed.

But then there came a thought to the saiyan suddenly.

One place he hadn't yet explored…

He could hope!

Goku put his index and middle fingers to his forehead and he disappeared, traveling in a blink, to a distant island, where his old master made his home.

* * *

><p>The earth-raised saiyan materialized within the midst of the Kame House, and what he saw as he registered his surroundings took him aback.<p>

It was a rather depressing scene, to be completely honest. Kame House was in bad shape; piles of discarded food and other trash were scattered about the wooden floors, and the television set was flashing an array of absurdly extreme obscenities—the most despicably explicit and rough pornography Goku could possibly imagine raged on the small screen so noisily that Goku was tempted to cover his ears. On the far wall, the shell of Turtle was propped up, and his bones were strewn about adjacent to it as well. Nearby, the infantile Maron was sitting on the floor, watching the porn inquisitively.

Goku was about to take Maron out of that indecent environment, but then a sight that he wished he could unsee caught his attention.

Master Roshi was seated comfortably on the sofa, and Android #18 was hard at work, sprawled on the other end of the couch, her head bobbing around the old master's genitals.

"Hey, Goku!" called Master Roshi casually. "What brings you here?"

At that, #18 rose to face Goku and after a moment of inspectional scrutiny, she flashed him a seductive, invitational sneer, but before she could begin to say anything, Roshi pulled her head back toward him, and she continued.

That really blew Goku's hair back. He stood there for a few minutes, trying to sputter some words to express his utter dismay and revulsion. But no matter how hard he tried to come up with something to say, he could muster no such thing, and without any word, Goku rushed out of the door, covering his mouth with his hand.

"What's the matter, boy?" called Roshi before Goku slammed the door behind him.

The saiyan was dizzy now; the world really had gone crazy! He couldn't make any sense of any situation he was put into.

He was taking in deep breaths as he stood there on the beach, letting his boots soak in the tide as it washed in. It almost calmed him until…

"Goku!" called a high-pitched voice from behind him.

Surprised, Goku turned on his heel to view the speaker.

The saiyan rocked on his heels again at the sight of the diminutive person, and worse, the state he was in.

"Thank God you're here!" said Krillin.

The bald little man was littler than Goku remembered—actually probably about as tall as he was when he was first introduced in Chapter 25 of Dragon Ball. He seemed to be severely beaten, as his teeth were all smeared with blood, and he had a number of bruises on his body. Worse, he was bound to a large plank of wood by a heavy rope.

"I need your help—somehow I got real—" Krillin started, but he was interrupted as a sudden rage overcame Goku, and he kicked a bunch of sand into his friend's face.

"Shut up! Don't you talk!" barked Goku, but his rage subsided, and he only stared at Krillin dumbfounded, confused to no end in consideration of his own brash, unexpected—almost reflexive actions.

Krillin began to sob quietly.

Distraught, Goku let out a long wail of abject distress as he turned around and blasted away with a fiery aura surrounding his person as he flew out of sight.

Up was down, black was white, and burnt toast tasted good.

Indeed, the world had gone crazy.


	4. Incoherent Slogans

**Chapter 3**

**Incoherent Slogans**

He wasn't talking. Nope, that was it. Vegeta had just run out of things to say. The prince of saiyans had run out of moves in general, actually. After being rejected by his wife in finality, he had little to look forward to.

Trunks watched his father as he sat on the couch, laying there motionless, his head cocked to one side, and seeming so still that he might be dead. It was almost as if he really _were_ dead—but any qualms that Trunks had concerning that notion were put to rest, as Vegeta periodically took a long sighing breath.

Father and son sat there unbothered, watching TV, until a commotion drew them from the bore of the near silence and news television.

There came a loud rapping on Trunk's apartment door, and the whispered shouts from outside, "Let me in, dude, let me in!"

Trunks got up and answered the door quickly, sensing the insistence in his friend's tone. He swung open the door, and a muscular saiyan, his hair glowing blonde from his perpetual super saiyan state, rushed inside, nearly knocking Trunks over.

The saiyan was tall and corded muscles in his arms and legs stood out tremendously, and his shoulders and chest were also incredibly large with muscle. He was the Legendary Super Saiyan, and was shunned by his people when he was young. Broly followed his father Paragus for years as they traveled across the galaxy after they escaped the destruction of planet Vegeta, but when he met Trunks, he discovered that his father was only using him for petty vengeance and he subsequently killed him. He joined Trunks in life on Earth, where together, they developed a partnership in selling narcotics. When competition became too stiff, the two picked up and brought their goods to the past.

"God damn it!" he growled, coming inside and shaking his fists. "_Fuck this shit, man_!"

"What?" asked Trunks, grabbing Broly's arms and turning the angry super saiyan to face him squarely. "What's wrong, bro?"

"We haven't had any customers… For too long!" he roared. "Someone's out there with some new shit...! This is what we wanted to get away from, remember? All the violence and competition!" Broly was hyperventilating, clenching his fists and shaking them wildly.

"Calm down, Broly!" cried Trunks, pulling Broly by his monstrous arm. "Dude, chill out!"

On the couch, still unmoving, was Vegeta, staring blankly at the arrival of Broly. The Legendary Super Saiyan! The destroyer of worlds, the greatest saiyan power in the universe! The prince was completely afraid and he finally got up the courage to stand up and leap behind the couch.

"Broly is here…?" whimpered the frightened saiyan prince. Vegeta gave a yelp and cried out "We're seriously totally dead!"

Thinking quickly (and irrationally), Vegeta scrambled over to the telephone and dialed 9-11.

* * *

><p>Sitting in a single chair, Dark Vegeta held his head in his hands.<p>

All of his money and valuable possessions had been stolen—by Lunch, he figured sadly. His apartment/dressing room had been completely sacked and drawers and other furniture were upturned and scattered in a confused mess.

Indeed, he was left with nothing.

"Dark Vegeta!" called a voice suddenly from behind his door. "Sir! Your match is starting!"

Dark Vegeta didn't answer.

"Sir?" asked the voice.

"I'm not going!" conceded Dark Vegeta harshly.

"You must!"

"I'll never fight again!"

The man on the other side of the door blew an audible sigh and left.

Dark Vegeta returned to his sulking, lowering his head once more. He had killed someone in a professional match. The thought turned his gut.

Minutes passed, and Dark Vegeta heard a key being turned in his door, and so he sat up straight to view he who would interrupt him during his private reflection.

"Okay," said Hercule, striding inside. "I can understand that you're guilty about what happened," he said, nodding.

"You wouldn't understand." Dark Vegeta replied coldly, looking away.

"Years ago, people were killed here left and right!" Hercule argued. "You only killed one guy!"

"I've killed millions of people! Millions!" Dark Vegeta roared back.

"Didn't know you were that messed up!" said Hercule offhandedly, and the renegade saiyan slumped anew.

"Dark Vegeta, we love you!" said Hercule. "The kids love you!"

Dark Vegeta looked to Hercule confusedly for a moment. "I don't have children," he reminded.

"No!" said scolded Hercule. "The kids from that PSA we shot in book 2—you remember!"

The saiyan wasn't even listening anymore. There was nowhere he could be without hurting anyone.

There was no escape from his bloody nature, it seemed.

* * *

><p>The obnoxious sounds of sex and television were a constant burden on Krillin as he laid there on the wood. To make things hurt more than they already did, Goku, who had helped him before, now shunned him as everyone else did. That knowledge wracked his sensibilities, and he vowed to escape.<p>

And so, buckling down with the firmest resolve he had ever had, Krillin came up with a fool-proof plan to escape.

He waited until nightfall, and then waited a little more until he knew that Roshi and his wife had fallen asleep.

Hours passed, but he eventually heard the silence that signified that his tormentors had retired.

And so it began.

Krillin started bite at his left arm at the shoulder, tearing skin from the limb. The pain was nearly overwhelming, and as the diminutive martial artist's arm trickled streams of blood, he nearly swooned. But he was far too determined to escape the life of ridicule and torture he was bound to if he were to stay.

So there he was, gnawing continuously at his arm until he was chowing down on bone. Krillin bit back howls of pain as he ground his teeth against ligaments and nerve endings.

He was lying in a pool of blood by the time his arm began to come remotely loose. Delirious from blood loss, Krillin decided to look around, and he saw that the sun was just beginning to rise in the distance.

Deciding that he had little more time to carry through with his plan, Krillin tore viciously at the last of the ligaments in his arm, and then began to try to shoulder loose of the ropes. Thankfully, his efforts did not prove futile, for the loosened arm allowed the ropes to catch on his torn, bloody arm.

With a lot of painful wriggling, the little arm eventually popped out of socket and subsequently fell off, tangled in the rope. Krillin was then capable of kicking out and crawling out of his binds.

Krillin got to his feet and began to shuffle in the direction of Kame House.

He pushed the door open slowly to keep the creaking at a minimum. The martial artist groggily tip-toed his way to the kitchen area, where there laid a sack of old senzu.

Krillin snatched it up at once and consumed one.

Immediately, his severed arm wound closed, all the injuries he'd sustained from his beating from Master Roshi disappeared, and his vitality and blood was restored.

The martial artist walked around and considered the situation with a clear head.

In consideration of the fact that he had lost most of his powers and energy, he figured that it might not be a good idea to try flying back to West City…

If he could find a raft of sorts…

Just then, the empty shell of Turtle crept into Krillin's line of sight.

That was his answer!

After donning some clothes, Krillin hobbled out of Kame House, dragging along with him the empty shell of the late Turtle and a sizeable spoon, which he planned to use as an oar.

The tiny bald man tossed the shell into the water and hopped inside. He took hold of the spoon and started oaring into the West. Always. Into the West.

* * *

><p><em>Bang-bang! <em>The door was being slammed on, and Trunks and Broly turned to it with incredulous expressions plastered on their faces.

"Open up! It's the police! We have you surrounded!" droned a megaphone from outside.

Trunks stepped back cautiously. "Who called the fuckin' cops?"

"They can't know about this, or everything we've worked for is gone!" cried Broly, panicking really hard.

At that moment, three officers kicked open the door, shouting "Police officers!" as they crouched into a seemingly heavily rehearsed formation, brandishing their pistols and taking aim.

Broly leapt into action at once, rushing at the officers and scooping them up with both arms, lifting them all from the ground. The officers screamed as they were being crushed by the great hug and let fly some bullets from their guns.

At that, another group of police charged in and open-fired.

Bullets bounced off of Broly's skin, and in annoyance, he squeezed the men, breaking their backs, and he let them fall to the ground in broken heaps.

Trunks leaped to intercept the officials. "Fuckin' pigs!" he screamed, grabbing hold of the officers and snapping their arms, which disarmed them in a spectacularly painful way.

He then tossed them to the side, where they smacked painfully against the walls.

More police poured into the small room, guns blazing, and the bullets ricocheted loudly off the saiyan skin, some of the missiles bouncing back to hit the police, even. They were being killed just as fast as they were entering, for Broly and Trunks waded through the building throng, crushing skulls with inward-double-slaps, breaking bones with offhanded punches and kicks, and sometimes obliterated altogether with "ki" blasts.

From the other side of the room, with a blanket over his head, Vegeta watched the massacre in frightened paralysis. "He's killing them!" he yelled to himself monotonously. "And then he's going to kill me! ..._Oh my Goooooooood_!"

"How did it end up like this?" roared Broly above the clamor.

"You're right!" agreed Trunks in the midst of removing his fist from the inside of a dead police officer's chest. "This is really fucked up!"

It was indeed, and the purest, most unholy and one-sided massacre of police ensued, and the slightly peculiar way the police kept flooding in to their doom made the whole occurrence all the more surrealistic.

* * *

><p>Where was he to go?<p>

Krillin shuffled along the sidewalk of West City, unperturbed as a bum rushed up to him and snatched the sea turtle shell from Krillin, which he'd been dragging along with him since he'd arrived.

He shook his head constantly. He'd escaped the torment of his wife and former master, but could he survive the mind-ravaging distress of the city?

There was one with whom he could relate when he was this size, though. He remembered her name clearly, and it passed his lips in a quiet whisper as he made his way through the city.

"Puff," he said.

He walked for what seemed like hours, and periodically, people would walk up to him and simply spit on him, shooting him cold scowls. That happened for a while, but Krillin finally came upon the Red Light District, as the kids say.

It wouldn't have really caused Krillin any grief otherwise—because what business would Krillin have trying to purchase time with a hooker? Really! But a strange sight gave the weak, diminutive Q-ball pause.

Gure was short—really short, perhaps two and half feet tall. Her arms and legs were skinny—like literal steel rails—and her big head, which seemed to be much too large for her small body, was round and pale and ugly.

She was posed absurdly, her legs half bent and spread wide, and supporting herself with her hand on a street lamp, she continually popped her knees and swung her hips from side to side. Her lips, dark with a thick layer of lipstick, were pouted, and her weird, white head was on a swivel, searching absently for any potential customers. On her neck was a voluminous furry scarf, and she was swinging a purse about with the arm that wasn't supporting her.

"Puff!" called Krillin, and he hobbled toward her in a rush, in terms of how quickly his tiny limbs could carry him.

"Krillin!" observed Gure—or Puff—and she quickly stopped her perpetual seduction dance.

Krillin tried to embrace her, but Gure backed out of arms length.

"Have you forgotten about that little incident?" she asked curtly.

The little bald man looked to his feet, recalling the occurrence with an expression that revealed more than a little remorse. Krillin, after reuniting with his daughter and regaining his powers, went to Trunk's apartment—where he and the creature lived together temporarily—and beat her down, consequently turning his back on her.

"I'm sorry!" Krillin said, trying to patch up any bad blood between them with that ridiculous claim. "We can't exist on our own, though! We both are ridiculed and hated, for reasons that deny logic!" he reminded.

At that moment, a man walked toward them and offered a disgusted look. He popped the plastic lid from his cup of soda he'd gotten from McDonalds and poured it unceremoniously over Gure's bald pate.

Gure, soaked from the sugary beverage and used to such treatment, only lowered her head and sighed.

Krillin watched as the man spat at the ground and stomped away. He then turned to Gure once again. "Puff, we could get away from this!"

"I've heard that before," she said, rolling her eyes. "Then what happened?"

Krillin opened his mouth as if to reply, but was cut short.

"When you got big again, I thought it would open a way to a newer, brighter future! But that pathetic dream—and how pathetic it was, to dream in this world that despises us—that dream was dashed when you literally _beat_ me!" tears were welling in her eye-holes. "And sent me running into the streets!"

Krillin couldn't think of anything to refute that with, and so he just gave a profound sigh and turned around. Half-turning, he dramatically muttered, "Goodbye, Puff,"

The tiny man walked around West City for a long while, periodically being verbally abused or spat on by passersby. It wasn't long before he realized that he couldn't survive for long in a world like this—especially with an arm missing.

Krillin knew that he no more roads left open to him.

There was but one option left to him.

Before long, Krillin was at the Capsule Corporation building rooting around the tool shed outside, since the gardener Jorge didn't approve of locks. The diminutive little martial artist eventually had a rope and a handwritten suicide letter.

He climbed up onto the roof and secured the rope on a nearby edge, which was handy, and hook-like. Krillin then tied a noose with the rope, then put it around his neck. He then adhered the note to his chest by some means that were convenient, and he stood at the edge of the roof.

Krillin muttered a few heartfelt last words, then stepped forward, flinging himself into the air below.

Time seemed to slow as he descended, and he braced himself for the impact of his neck breaking.

This would end it. This would bring an end to the injustice and turmoil that he was forced to suffer for so long.

As Krillin fell, a strong breeze wafted in from below, which slowed—even halted Krillin's decent, and sent him instead swinging into the nearby window.

* * *

><p>Piccolo brought the spoon to his lips and slipped it into his mouth, tasting the sampling of dip that was on it. The Namekian rolled his eyes upward thoughtfully for a moment, then quickly removed the utensil from his mouth and made a sour expression.<p>

"S'crap," Tarble observed, reading Piccolo's face.

"It's way too strong," Piccolo confirmed. "I told you that you put too much onion powder in."

"I'm telling you, dude," Tarble interjected. "It wasn't too much."

"How much did you put in"? asked the Namekian curtly.

"Three spoonfuls."

"See, you put too much! You only need two spoonfuls!"

"It was three _small_ spoonfuls," sighed Tarble.

"Now we need something to get rid of that fuckin' _zing_," said Piccolo, heading for some cabinets.

The two were in the kitchen, which was on the third floor of the Capsule Corporation building. It was a pretty big, with a whole lot of storage space—which was mostly filled with all kinds of foods and ingredients and other reagents and equipment used for maintaining a kitchen.

In an upper cabinet, Piccolo studied the assortment of bottles and boxes in the cubed space, and he found a box with a mouse—was it a mouse? It looked pretty big to him, and it had **X**'s for eyes, but that wasn't important. Piccolo opened up the box and dipped his fingers inside and licked them to taste the substance.

It was bland, but it had a distant bitterness to it. In fact, it was rather lemony. Piccolo pursed his lips and brought the box over to the cooking area.

"Let's put this in there," Piccolo decided, shaking some of the contents into the mix.

"I'm gonna taste this," said Tarble, reaching for a spoon.'

Suddenly, the window a few feet away broke apart noisily as a small, human form crashed violently through it, sending scattered shards of glass in all directions over the tile floor.

Piccolo was about to rush over to the aid of the humanoid figure but stopped when he discovered the identity of the person in the wreckage.

"Damn it, Krillin!" roared the Namekian. "You broke the window!"

Krillin lowered his head dejectedly, and was ordered by Piccolo to pick up the mess.

Shaking his head in annoyance, Tarble turned his attention back on the experimental dip. The saiyan picked up a spoon and scooped up a little of the thick concoction and placed it in his mouth.

He swirled it around with his tongue for a few seconds, then a tear came to his eye.

It was the best thing he had ever tasted.


	5. Watermelon Fingers

**A/N**: Greetings, my adoring fans. I know you've been waiting for this for a long time, but hey. I've been busy. School is _hard!_ Anyway, here it is. Enjoy!

**CHAPTER 4**

**WATERMELON FINGERS**

The stream had finally ended, punctuated by the sickening sound of bones crunching beneath Broly's strong squeeze. The final officer crashed down in a heap onto the floor, and the perpetual super saiyan let out a long sigh, trying to calm his rustled jimmies.

As Broly stood there in silence, save for the muffled sirens of panicked police officials in the distance, Trunks walked across the floor, tip-toeing over dead bodies and large gatherings of pooled blood, producing the sound of creaking wood with each step.

Taking a cue from the relative silence, a frightened Vegeta dared to peek up from behind the couch, to see two undamaged saiyans walking around the ruined apartment.

"This is _fucked_!" snapped Trunks in a frustrated whisper.

Broly only gave a grunt in agreement.

Trunks nodded and caught sight of his old man peeking from behind the couch, and saw that he was beckoning him to come to him. Trunks sighed and obliged, creeping toward him and asking "What's up, father?"

"What in Hell is that monster doing here?" asked Vegeta in a harsh whisper.

"Dad, it's cool. He's with me," sighed Trunks, patting his hands in the air toward his father to calm him. "It's all right—he's not about that life anymore,"

"Sure?" asked Vegeta, his inhibition surely having a hold on him as he considered the bulky form standing in the middle of a mess of rubble and dead bodies. "He killed those men," he reminded.

"So did I, pop," replied Trunks, and then he paused as he considered a tidbit of Vegeta's own past. "And you used to blow up entire planets if I'm to believe anything you're always lecturing me about.

Vegeta made some indecipherable mutterings, but didn't otherwise answer, just settling back and looking away, not arguing his son's point.

Trunks was about to say something else, but he stopped as Broly interrupted him, saying "We can't stay here," suddenly, not looking at him as he did so.

The son of Vegeta didn't answer right away, but nodded absently, knowing that reinforcements for the po-po might soon arrive, to their further needless destruction. "Where to, man?" he finally asked.

"We're gonna find him," Broly answered determinedly.

"Who?" asked Trunks, not catching on.

"The guy who stole our business and started this massacre," replied Broly without missing a beat. "These police were tipped off about us somehow—I'd bet anything it was that bastard who's taking our customers!"

Behind him, Vegeta averted his gaze guiltily, slinking away without a word.

"Okay…" said Trunks, shaking his head doubtfully. "How do you think we're supposed to find this guy, though, huh?"

"I think I have an idea," Broly answered evenly, slipping into his overcoat and placing his wide-brimmed hat over his spiky blonde hair.

Trunks, despite himself, cracked a knowing grin.

"Let's make a dope deal,"

* * *

><p>"Come one, come all!" cried Tarble, wearing an apron and a chef's hat as he hustled to and fro, ringing a bell. "To Piccolo and Tarble's famous Chip-N-Dip Deli!"<p>

"Home of the famous _Closer To Heaven_ dip!" added Piccolo, who sat behind the transaction counter beneath the colorful tent just outside the Capsule Corp. property.

It was a few minutes before a commuting office-worker passing by paused to consider the little shop. He smirked and approached it mildly, holding out a single coin and addressed Piccolo as if the Namekian were a six-year-old.

"_I'll_ try some of your dip, young man," announced the man, smiling, and his mustache creased warmly with his facial movement.

Piccolo seized the coin and put it in his mouth and bit down on it, then nodded, satisfied. He then bent down behind the counter and produced a bag of rippled potato chips and a small bowl with a viscous, brownish substance in it.

"Here you are, mister," offered Piccolo, settling back in the fold-out chair and indicating the food with a gyration of his three-fingered hand.

"Well this looks very good," said the man politely, taking a chip and scooping up a small amount of dip and scrutinizing it for a brief moment, then crunching on it with a thoughtful look plastered on his face.

The man's face brightened up after a moment. "Say!" he said excitably. "This isn't half bad!" He smacked his lips together for a brief period. "It's great, in fact!" he decided.

"Might I have another chip, please?" he asked.

Piccolo held out his hand expectantly, and another coin was placed in his waiting palm. The Namekian indicated the chips again, and the man greedily ate another chip, this time with a more generous amount of dip.

Behind the man, Tarble didn't hide his excitement, jumping up and down in celebration, and he started calling out the promotional slogans even more feverishly.

More and more people showed up, and the coins began to stack up. Tarble and Piccolo's fists met and they recited a congratulatory saying.

They were on a _zoon_!

* * *

><p>"You know where to get that shit?" asked the disguised Trunks of the shady-looking junkie in the alley while Broly, his identity obscured with his big, heavy clothes, hung ominously, his noticeably bulky form promising a hurting on the junkie if he didn't come up with any answers.<p>

"It…" started the junkie-looking man, but he paused to scratch at his neck with surprisingly savage zeal, then stopped and resumed his statement. "It's hard to say, man… The dealer's a mysterious guy,"

"Where can we find him?" asked Trunks, a death-promising calm creeping into his voice as he nodded toward Broly, and the big saiyan offered a snarl in response.

"The guy…" the junkie said, nodding vehemently. "He just sort of knows…"

Just at that moment, another man, dressed in a suit and puffing on a cigarette, stepped into view and eyed the pair questioning the haggard drug addict. "Gentlemen," he called softly. "You're looking for Super Coke?"

Trunks and Broly glanced at each other. Looks like that dirty old man wasn't kidding!

"You've got some?" asked Trunks as he approached, throwing a straight-arm at the junkie character, knocking him down hard into the alley.

"Indeed," the man in the suit answered, sneering.

"Who's your boss?" Broly asked the man, following suit behind Trunks, each step guided by purpose that Broly hadn't known for quite a long time.

The suited man blanched slightly and scrutinized the two men approaching him, trying hard to appear calm. "I…can't say,"

Trunks and Broly looked at each other and nodded their agreement, then as they closed in, cracked their knuckles.

* * *

><p>The daylight struck through the windows, dimmed slightly to a light blue hue as the sun's radiance shone through the blue curtains. As the light streaked the walls and floor, there sat a solitary figure on the perfectly-made bed.<p>

She adjusted her blue hair as she stared plaintively at a small photograph she was clutching. "Goku, where are you?" she asked, answered only by silence and the soft hum of wind as it hit the glass pane in the windows.

Bulma Briefs then shifted her gaze briefly to look at the empty bed, which hadn't been filled for the past couple of days. Goku had vowed to defeat Vegeta—to kill him if necessary—so that they could live out their lives without the constantly-pining Vegeta trying to break them apart.

She'd kissed Vegeta the night Goku apparently disappeared.

She felt guilty—as if she'd wronged Goku in some way, for she knew in her heart that she couldn't love Vegeta again. He'd had his chance.

Goku belonged to her, as fully as she did to him. She was sure of it.

And now she was alone.

Had Goku seen Vegeta when he left?

Had Goku seen Vegeta when she kissed him?

A thousand thoughts swirled in her head, and all she could do was wait until Goku returned to her, if ever he would.

* * *

><p>The droning wind whistling through the mountains of his former home was calming to him, and floating above the rocky terrain as he was, he had a brilliant view of the sun reflecting ever so subtly on the stone of the vast ravines and plateaus.<p>

To his right, Goku could see a heavily forested area. He shook his head as he considered it, recognizing it as the entrance to his former home which he'd left when he had first left to help Bulma search for Dragon Balls. He recalled it so clearly, and it brought the shade of a smile to his face as the memories came to him.

Those times were ended, though, he remembered, frowning. The world had gone crazy—or he had gone crazy himself, feeling as if he was dropped unwittingly into a heavily altered mirror of the world he was used to.

Was it a case of memory loss?

Something occurred to him as he mulled over that notion—something that Master Roshi had told him once, long ago.

"…Until that baby fell down a gorge one day, hit his head, and pretty near died. But he was a tough little monkey! He pulled out of it, an' ever after, he was the sweetest little thing you'd hope to see…" Master Roshi had said, referring to Goku when he had fell down into a gorge as a child and hit his head, which made Goku forget all about his saiyan heritage.

Goku experienced an epiphany, then. If it worked once, it might work again, but to the opposite effect!

The saiyan soared in the direction of Grandpa Gohan's house, picking his way through the woods until he came upon a sizeable gorge—the one near where Grandpa had always walked.

Goku touched down at the lip of the cliff falling.

_This is it_, thought Goku as he looked at the jagged rocks at the bottom of the large pit. _One last shot_.

Goku stepped off the edge and he plummeted down, leaning forward, hoping to strike his head hard enough to get his plan to work.

* * *

><p>He stood perfectly straight, his hands clasped casually behind his back as he stood upon a crate in his drug warehouse, where there were literally hundreds of workers of dark complexion taking care of inspection and packaging of the copious amounts of Super Coke that needed to be distributed around the West City. He flashed that smile again, and gave a soft laugh as he considered the possibilities of his new scheme that he's schemed.<p>

His own invention, Super Coke, as he called it, was actually a mixture of pure Dragon Coke, but with an altogether unheard-of ingredient, which was sort of a secret to everyone: Nano-machines: microscopic machines derived from his own mechanical nature which he programmed to enter the brain of humans and alter their nervous system so that the host, at the whim of #17, will go under his influence and essentially become a slave to his will.

Things were coming along swimmingly, but there was a sudden crash, seeming to originate at the main entrance door. All the attention was directed there, when a second bang on the door had the doors swinging wide open as one of 17's own elite dealers blasted it open with his own body, then tumbled for a few feet before becoming very still.

In the wake of the ajar portal, two heavily clothed men stepped inside and stopped just a few paces in, standing side-by-side.

"Who are you?" called #17 from his perch, his voice dripping with amusement.

The two men turned to each other and nodded, then shed their bulky coats and tossed aside their hats, revealing their true identities.

"Ah," remarked 17, recognition coming into his voice, and he stepped down from the crates to approach the duo. "Those two small-timers… So you've noticed the absence of your old customers, I presume? Yes, it is true, it is I who lured them to me—to the superior drug lord. You see, my drugs are augmented with machines, and those under their influence will bow to me!" he explained. "You two're out of business, I'm afraid."

"Spare us your litanies!" cried Broly. "We know you tipped off the cops!"

#17 looked at the saiyan curiously. "I don't know what you're talking about; you two aren't human, so why would I…" he started to say, but Broly's roar cut him off.

"You're dead!" roared Broly, leaping at the android in a rush. At the sight of the rushing saiyan, all of the workers in the hideout fled from their posts and out of the building altogether. At that, the android regarded it with little emotion.

Behind the angry saiyan, Trunks rallied, leaping around and to the side, thinking to flank the android. "You fuckin' scum!" he cries as he winds up for a flying kick.

Android 17 smiled as he saw the predictable attack, and he brought an arm up to block the kick, and as it connected, he slipped a few steps to the side, stealing the weight from the assault. And put so off balance by the android's quick evasion, Broly stumbled past.

"Pocket sand!" cried 17, reaching into his pocket and splashing a heavy handful of white powder into Broly's astonished face.

Immediately, Broly froze in place, clutching the sides of his head. "What…is…?"

"You're my slave now, Legendary Super Saiyan!" cried #17.

* * *

><p>His eyelids fluttered open, and he lazily studied his surroundings as he laid there, on the cold stone floor.<p>

"Where…am I?" Goku asked no one.

He sat up, rubbing a hand over his head, carefully massaging a nasty bump. There was a premeditated reason for him being there, he remembered.

Son Goku grasped the sides of his head, rocking back and forth on the seat of his pants as he thought about it.

With a bright flare in his sight, the face of Bulma Briefs smiled at him, and with that small memory flashing before him, a flood of other memories came back to him.

The memories were a bitter pill to swallow, but it all suddenly made sense to the saiyan. And there was a duty he still had to fulfill.

Bulma was sitting in the living room, watching something stupid on TV—she wasn't really paying attention. This waiting for Goku was a boring job, she had to admit, and so she rested her head in one of her hands as she blew a sigh, glumly shifting in her seat.

At that moment, the room erupted in sound as the door crashed open, and she turned around just in time to see Son Goku—her love!—striding inside, clad in a lumberjack outfit.

"Goku!" cried Bulma, jumping up and running toward her boyfriend.

"I traveled 500 miles to give you my seed!" cried Goku, and he immediately tore a huge rip in Bulma's shirt, revealing her naked torso. He issued a howl, and he and Bulma tumbled down onto the sofa, and there they made sweet love until the cows came home.

* * *

><p>#17 hit the ground with a thud as he was barreled over in Trunk's flying tackle. The son of the Prince of Saiyans tucked his legs into the android's and he began to pound the flats of his fists into 17's face—raining a series of heavy blows upon him, creating a rumbling in the ground and causing the ground beneath them to crater with each connection of fist to face.<p>

Trunks' advantage didn't last long, for Android 17 sent a strong fist into Trunk's face, which dislodged him from his perch, sending beads of sweat and the young saiyan's lavender hair flying in all directions under the weight of the brutal punch.

Across the room, Broly was still struggling to keep the intrusions of the parasitic nano-machines at bay. He stepped forward, the wall of rage and denial building around him and lending him strength. His frame burst into a radiant golden aura, enveloping him in a searing hot fire.

He continued to build the wall of anger, which lent size and intensity to the blaze growing around his body, which intensified to a white hot glow, fully obscuring his body from onlookers.

Many seconds passed, and suddenly, he felt that he was free from the intrusions of the nanomachines, and so he dismissed the golden aura, and immediately bounded toward the fight to aid his friend.

"Holy shit!" cried Trunks as Broly approached, his face screwing up in confusion as he considered his friend. Distracted as he was, #17 became curious as to what Trunks was reacting to, and he turned his head to see what was the matter.

Broly was coming straight for him, his naked body hurtling toward him at an alarming rate. His mouth hung slack until Trunks' hands pressed on his chest, and a blast of energy had him flying up into the air.

Barely conscious of what was happening, he felt himself suddenly crushed in a powerful hug, still flying in midair.

"BOOM!" Trunks cried as Broly, Android 17 firmly pressed in his grasp, landed, causing the ground to shake beneath him. Straddling the android, Broly went into a rage, scratching the android all over, then actually tearing off limbs.

As his arms were removed, Android 17 screamed in pain, and didn't even get cut short as his head was torn violently from his shoulders.

Then, grasping the severed—still screaming head—with both hands, Broly threw his head back, then slammed it down upon the mechanical head, connecting so powerfully that the head caved in. He repeated the process again and again, until the head was nothing but a flattened, bloody piece of scrap metal.

Broly sat there staring at the destroyed mass for a few moments, then dropped it to the floor as he rose to his feet.

"That's what you get," blurted Trunks, coming to Broly's side and eyeing the flattened steel. He kicked it away, muttering "Motherfucker…"

His face suddenly brightening up, Trunks clapped Broly on the shoulder. "There we go," he said to his partner. "Problem solved,"

"How can you be so happy?" Broly snapped back. "Your apartment is gone and our empire is destroyed,"

"No," said Trunks, grinning.

"What do you mean?" the naked Broly asked his friend, sobered.

"I think we were just put in charge of a new drug empire, man," said Trunks, surveying the area.

Broly looked at Trunks, and they exchanged grins. "Yeah," he said, nodding.

Their fists connected. "So good," they said in unison as they chuckled.


	6. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

The saiyan's hair blew easily in the breeze, and he stared across the backdrop of West City, his heavy denim garments fluttering softly as he stood motionless for many minutes, reflecting on his choice to leave.

This had been his home for years. But it had served as a prison for him as of late, his wife, home, and integrity stolen by his longtime rival.

Turning on his heel, he put his back to the city, a duffle bag slung over one shoulder, and sighed. The Prince of Saiyans knew that he had to move on—to go see the world and start a new life somewhere else.

Striding slowly on a long, lonely road, Vegeta was flanked by tall grass and shining meadows up ahead. He walked on, deciding to simply forget about Bulma, and to forget about Kakarrot. They were fools.

That was the truth of it.

Vegeta walked, and kept on walking, until the light of the sky was transitioning to a soft orange-pink hue.

As the prince made his way down the road, he spied another figure, walking on the road ahead of him. He picked up his pace to meet the man ahead. Once he did, he called out to him.

Dark Vegeta regarded him curiously.

The saiyan prince looked Dark Vegeta in the face, no amount of hostility coming to him in that moment.

Yes, things would be different this time around.

"Well met," was all Vegeta offered, and he looked ahead. Apparently that was confirmation enough for the seemingly downtrodden Dark Vegeta, and they knew that they were now traveling companions.

On they walked, facing the sunset.

Toward a new existence.

Indeed, toward a new life.

* * *

><p>"ACK!" coughed a customer, suddenly clutching his throat, dropping his prize—a chip with a generous amount of dip on it—and flailing his arms about, trying to catch a handhold on his fellow consumers. "Poison…" he muttered, and he collapsed.<p>

A general panic arose in within the ranks of the customers, and screams and shouts erupted from the folks who had been mingling and eating the delicious—and poisonous—chips and dip.

"Poison!?" cried Tarble in similar panic, turning on Piccolo. "What the fuck1?"

"I have no idea," agreed Piccolo. "But I think it'd be best to get our asses out of here as quickly as possible." he explained.

Amidst the ruckus, the Saiyan and the Namekian picked up their tent and other assets, then vanished, leaving the poisoned customers to their own devices.

And Piccolo and Tarble never mentioned it again.

* * *

><p>A year had passed by without much excitement, and Krillin had been rehabilitated by Goku again.<p>

"I hope you're proud of yourself as we are, Krillin!" Goku congratulated his second-time graduated friend. "You certainly have earned it,"

"Thanks for everything, you guys." replied Krillin, indicating his friend Goku and the rest of the crew of Capsule Corp. "I just hate to leave the city like this! I mean, it just seems so sudden,"

"Don't worry about it, Krillin." said Bulma, who stood at Goku's side. They'd just been married a few months ago, and one could clearly see that a baby was on the way. "I'm sure you have a lot to do back at Kame House,"

"Thanks, Bulma; you're absolutely right." said Krillin. "And Goku, I can't tell you how much I appreciate everything… You changed my life!"

Goku seized Krillin's hand in a firm handshake.

"Hey, don't thank me," Goku insisted. "I got just as much out of it as you did."

"Really? That's—

A horrendous tearing sound erupted through crust of the planet with such suddenness, it took a full second before anyone had the presence of mind to cover their ears. The ground cracked with a terrifically impossible rumble, and the crust of the Earth was suddenly divided into very small parts.

"GOKU!" screamed Krillin before a stream of lava burst up from the ground and consumed him in a fraction of an instant.

Son Goku, panicked and horrified, tried to call out to Bulma, tried to take her hand and teleport away, but it was already too late.

Then the Earth exploded.

A bright light in space, and then…nothing.

Brutally, simply, instantly.

Such is the power of the Black Star Dragonballs.

**FIN**

[APPLAUSE]


End file.
